


The Man with the Iron Heart

by kausingkayn



Series: Knights of the Magi (Avengers of the Realm) [1]
Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kausingkayn/pseuds/kausingkayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is the best damn blacksmith in the Realm. But when he is captured by rebels and forced to make weapons for their cause, Tony finds himself in a situation that armor itself can't protect him from. But a very old man trapped in a cave tells Tony of secrets long buried by the Great War, and Tony finds out that he is the only one that can stop evil in its tracks, and that the only way he can succeed is by learning to harness the one thing that died out hundreds of years ago: magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw a photo (http://tinyurl.com/7xrarym) on facebook and it lit a fire to my muse. Disclaimer: I don't know the author. If you could tell me who did this, I'd happily give them the credit they deserve. 
> 
> This is the first installment of several chapters in a series of Medieval Avengers! First fanfic I've written in a while. I'm sticking pretty close to the Iron Man movie, so Spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet, along with some minor ones from the Captain America Movie, though not many. Enjoy! Oh, and I've done no research on the Medieval period, this isn't actual set in our history, just a time similar to it.

He leaned forward in the mirror, his breathing even and fingers precise as he dragged the sharp knife over his skin. The small black hairs fell like soldiers under gunfire as he obliterated the offending party. The knife caught and his hand slipped, a red line appearing in his flesh.

“Shit.” Tony pulled away from the mirror and dropped the knife onto the wooden counter. He frowned, watching the small pinpricks of blood drop from his face onto the floor. He reached for a piece of cloth – the closest being his sleeve – and dabbed at the wound before the red stained his facial hair. Any other day. He could have cut himself any other day and he wouldn’t have cared. He almost lost an arm working in the shop one day and was found hours later bent over his table, bleeding out but too busy to tend to the wound because he had a project to finish. But today was different, because he wasn’t just going to work in the shop; he was going to see Pepper.

Or, more formally, her Royal Highness, Princess Patricia Stane. But she preferred Pepper, to her friends, and Tony was _most certainly_ a friend.

“Jarvis!” He yelled, wiping his hands on an old dirty tunic before tossing it aside, getting up from the wash bowl and pulling a leather breastplate on over his white linen shirt. The leather was old and worn, hints of red and gold silk threaded through the chest piece barely evident. They were the Stark family colors, and Tony wore them with pride.

“Yes, master?” An old man hobbled into the room, his back bent but his head held high.

“I’m off to the castle!” Tony boasted, a wide smile on his face. “Is the work on the new swords complete?”

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis replied with a soft smile. “Is there anything that needs done today while you are away?”

Tony didn’t even pause as he grabbed his boots, pulling them on over his brown pants. They were a new pair, made especially for the occasion. Jarvis had finished sewing them a few moons ago. Not even a single hole in them…yet. “Uh…feed Butterfingers, she gets moody and starts chewing on my stuff. Oh, and give the workers the next two days off – they deserve time with their respective families and whores.”

It was like the cat knew she was being talked about, making her grand entrance as her master muttered her name. She was a gorgeous Calico cat, a few years old with full fir and razor sharp claws. She yawned and slinked across the room, rubbing up against Tony’s leg and leaving cat hair all over the leather.

“Damnit! Stupid cat.” He nudged her with his foot, prompting a hiss. Jarvis stood in the doorway, a silent chuckle shaking his shoulders.

“Sure, laugh about it.” Tony muttered, walking across the room and opening the large paneled door that hid his closet. He pulled out a belt and looped it around his waist, leaning a bit of wiggle room for the slim broadsword that came after it. It was a fine piece of weaponry, one of Tony’s latest and greatest designs. It delivered all the crunch of a broadsword, but with half the weight, allowing a fit soldier to wield it with one hand instead of the normal two. One of the several masterpieces that Tony was bringing before the Royal Court later that day.

“I probably wont be back until the moon after.” He said as an afterthought, his eyes and heart having room for none other than his sword. He could make it to the castle and back in a day, but the Royal family really knew how to throw a great party, and the taverns that were within the large walls couldn’t be beat.

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis gave a small bow. “Shall I ready your stead?”

Tony blinked and turned around, sliding the broadsword into his belt and shutting the closet door. “No, I think I’m gonna go for a more unconventional approach.”

The horses were strapped to the wagon, tugging against their reigns and neighing in complaint of their heavy load. Tony fed them each an apple, and whispered encouraging words in the form of “toughen up, pussies” to both workhorses before turning to his hand. 

“We ready, Rhody?”

The young man gave the horses a short tug on their reigns from his seat on the front on the wagon. “Ready when you are, master Stark.” Rhodes replied.

“Awesome.” Tony turned to his ride – a gigantic War Hound, one of the last of its kind, like many other animals in this day and age. Back in the time of the war, wolves were taken from the woods and trained to ride soldiers into battle. They were monstrous beasts; once Tony was settled on it’s back, his legs dangled several feet from the ground. After the war was over, they were deemed dangerous by the people, and were corralled and murdered. Well, most of them, anyway.

“Alright, let’s ride.” Tony dug his heels into the wolf’s ribs, and it snarled in compliance, taking off at a neck-breaking run. Tony yelled (in a manly, and no way girlish way) and pulled on the reigns, the wolf breaking and throwing its rider over its head and into the dirt ground. Rhodes couldn’t help but laugh as his master picked himself off the road and brushed away the dirt. “Dumb ass dog, I swear to the gods, next time you throw me off I’m giving you to the orphanage down the street to be used as a toy ride.”

He hopped back onto the wolf and tried again, digging his heels softly into its ribcage. This time, the wolf started forward in a slow and steady trot. Rhodes followed behind with the wagon, and Tony was off.

 

They made it to the castle as the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains. They rode through the village that surrounded the great wall, Tony staring at it in awe, as he always did. For all the tinkering and toying he did, he had never crafted anything larger than armor for a warhorse. He dealt in the finer dealings of things. But this wall, it was pure strength. Ten feet thick and miles around, it was built for one thing and one thing only: to keep people out. And it had been doing that job for centuries. The Stane Castle had never been breached, and it had been standing for thousands of years, old and crumbling even before the great wall. There were still gouges carved out of the rock from where the catapults made their mark, but there was not a single hole. It was the single greatest creation that Tony had ever seen.

“Mister Stark!” Someone called his name through the streets, and Tony snapped out of his praising. A man atop a horse was coming towards him, although ‘a man on a horse’ was a far cry from an accurate description. The man was a Knight of the Realm, one of the honored few tasked with the duty as a personal guard to the Royal Family. Maybe three or four held that position at a time. He was tall, even sitting upon his horse, with dirty blonde hair that was immaculately groomed. His armor was the best there was – Tony knew this because he had personally fashioned it for the Knight himself – and was shined until the sun could see itself clearly in the armor’s reflection. A real broadsword hung from his waist, one that took two hands to wield, but Tony knew that the knight could easily heft it with one. The horse that he rode was not just a horse, either. It was a purebred steed from the Royal stock, it’s white mane clean of dirt and debris, a sad juxtaposition to Tony’s own livestock.

“Rogers, what a _pleasure_. The Princess’ messenger too busy to greet me?” Tony’s sarcasm was not lost on the knight, nor Rhodes, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, torn between bowing to a man of such higher status than himself or sitting up straight in loyalty to his master.

“The Princess requested that I provide escort through the castle walls.” His smile didn’t meet his eyes. “And it’s _sir_ _Rogers_ , blacksmith.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind Rogers. Tallyho.” Dummy snarled from under his master, and Roger’s horse started a bit. But the knight kept his balance, as regal as ever, and turned heel, heading back towards the castle. Tony dutifully followed.

It was an honor, truly, to be escorted by someone as highly esteemed as a Knight of the Realm. And of the other two who were in service Tony loved. But Rogers was something different, and it had nothing at all to do with how he smiled at Pepper, and how she smiled back. Nothing at all.

The people on the street pause as Sir Rogers rides past; their daily lives paused as the Royal knight rides above them. More quizzical glances are aimed at Tony, along with a few smiles from women that he had long forgotten the names of. Everyone knew who he was, however, his fame was built more on rumors of his gigantic purse and ability to out drink any man rather than the respect and honor that Rogers’ fame was surrounded by. Tony waved at a few of the more attractive gazers, enjoying the ride. They came to the wall, however, and his attention was averted back to its original state.

The door was as high as ten giants, made out of the same rock as the rest of the wall. It was an ingenious mechanism that pulled the door open, a bunch of levies and ropes designed by none other than Howard Stark, Tony’s father. The man had been the chief architect for the Royal family before he passed away many years ago. He would be rolling over in his grave if he knew Tony chose the path of a blacksmith, a much less esteemed role, yet a much more lucrative one.

It lifted onto enough for the tip of the wagon to make it through, and then stone came crashing back down, cutting off the castle from the rest of the world. Although, it felt as if the world could easily fit within the castle’s wall. Another town was set inside, one a lot less dingy and dirtier than the one they had just traveled through. This was where the nobles and better-off artisans worked, every single one of them working in some way for the Royal family. It was crazy, for a village to be needed in order to sustain a family that consisted of a King and his lonely daughter, although from some of the looks that were being casted towards Sir Rogers, the princess wasn’t as lonely as some might think.

The people that watched them ride by were much more familiar now, Tony being able to call to some of them by name. Everyone tipped their hat or bowed slightly as they passed, making their way straight towards the Castle. It was a huge man-made object, older than the wall that surrounded it, built during a time where men could just flick their wrist and an entire house could be carved out of stone.

The drawbridge was lowered to allow them access, and Rogers dismounted his horse, gesturing for Tony and Rhodes to do the same. Stark hopped off of Dummy and ran his fingers through the wolf’s fir, the animal’s heartbeat strong and fast against his fingers.

“The stable boy will take your horses and dog, Mister Stark. I’ll have my men come and gather your supplies and take them to your room. I’m assuming you’re staying through the night?”

“You assume correct, Rogers.” Tony said. “Tell your boys to take the shiny stuff to the showing room, and the rest of it to my quarters…oh, and a woman or two is never a bad thing.” He added. Castle girls were the best, especially the ones who served the King.

“As you wish, mister Stark.” Rogers said, although he said it with a frown on his face. “I shall inform Princess Stane of your arrival.”

The knight disappeared into the Castle halls, and Tony turned to Rhodes, pulling out a small purse of coins. He threw it at the young boy. “Here ya go Rhody, have some fun.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Thanks Master! I’ll be back tomorrow late morning to prepare the horses.” Rhody knew how it went. He got the night off, and in return made sure that the horses were prepared, the money counted, and the orders written properly while Stark slept off whatever adventures he had the night before. It was an old tradition.

Tony’s smile was genuine as he headed off into the castle. The boy was so different from his father, Sir James Rhodes, a previous Knight of the Realm, and close friend to Tony. He had died a few years ago in a fight against some rebels who had planned on assassinating the King. Tony found out later that James had fathered a bastard son to a slave woman, who didn’t want her boy to have the same life she did. Tony took the boy under the guise of a slave Hand, but promised to teach the kid all he knew about metalwork. He wasn’t the brightest kid on the block, but he was good with his hands.

A large tapestry filled with the Royal Family greeted Tony. King Stane was there, this overbearing figure, his large presence demanding respect and loyalty. Under his hand was a beautiful woman that Tony had never met, nor never would. It was the Queen, a woman who had died eighteen years ago giving birth to her daughter, who was painted in at a later date, standing in front of her parents, her bright red hair shining brighter than the sun. The paint that made Pepper was newer than that of her father and mother, and was painted by a different artist. Tony could tell little things like that. Unnecessary genius, James used to say.

“Her Highness will see you now.” Sir Rogers interrupted his thoughts once again, and Tony started.

“Wonderful!” His eyes lit up. It had been at least seven cycles of the moon since he has seen the princes, and while her image had not faded the least bit from his mind, her laughter had. Plus, he had some weaponry to sell. That too.

 

Tony was always one for theatrics. He found that it sold more merchandise, and got him pretty far in life. There had been times during his short life that he had been running on nothing but cow manure, but his dazzling smile and boasting voice accompanied with his set shoulders and confidence always saw him through. If there was a king of bullshit, he would be the first successor in line for the throne. However, today, he didn’t need to pull on his bullshit reservoirs, because he had something so big that it didn’t even need an introduction. He gave one anyway.

“Your Majesty, your Highness.” Tony bowed in front of the King and his daughter. “I bring you the end to the rebels and their revolution.”

Rhodes brought out the pieces Tony made for demonstration, and he stepped aside. The King sat upon his throne, looking down on all that dared enter the throne chamber. He looked even more harsh and unforgiving in person, his beard thick and grey, only a few spots showing his original black hair. There was none on his head, although the solid gold crown more than made up for that. His blue eyes pierced through Tony’s, and he averted his eyes.

Pepper, on the other hand, was the most graceful being that Tony had ever laid eyes on. Her fair skin was flawless, and her fiery red hair was neatly contained within a tight braid that lasted down to her waist. She had these beautiful green eyes that she received from her mother, and a small smile spread on her full lips as their eyes met. Tony didn’t look away, instead returning a smile thrice as large in turn.

He introduced the light broadsword and a new design for armor for warhorses. It was lighter, more durable, and could stop arrows from twice the distance any other brand on the market could. Of course, he saved the best for last. Theatrics.

“Sir Rogers, which of your men is most skilled in the art of the crossbow?” Tony asked, helping Rhodes set up for the demonstration. First, he set up a breastplate from another blacksmith’s greatest and most expensive collection – his archrival, Hammer. Then, he set up his own breastplate.

“What and learn.” He whispered to Rhodes, and then turned back to Rogers and the Royal family. “Sir Rogers, if you would command your bowman to fire at both breastplates, and then the five foot thick wooden door, as quickly and accurately as he can.”

Rogers nodded, and an armored man dressed in guard garb stepped out, taking a crossbow from his back and aiming. Tony recognized the bow as one of his models from several years ago.

_THWACK, shuffle, click, THWACK, shuffle, click, THWACK._

“Wonderful!” Tony smiled openly, clapping his hands together. “Rhody!”

The boy shuffled forward, handing Tony a new crossbow. He had finished it only hours before they had left for the castle, and it was his baby. If Tony had an actual child, he would love this piece of machinery more.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you, the Jericho.” He spun, bringing the weapon up to his cheek, and fired.

_THWACK, THWACK, THWACK._

He lowered the crossbow and turned, drinking in the faces. Rogers was his favorite, awe and surprise leaking through every bone in his body as he stared at the weapon with lust. Oh, he wanted it. Rogers wanted it bad. And Tony was going to give it to him. For a price.

“The Realm’s first and only automated crossbow. It holds up to five arrows, and loads them with spring action that can be found nowhere else. This eliminates the tiring training of bowmen and the few precious seconds that could be the difference between life and death for a soldier. Wonderful deal for you today, twenty Stark arrows are included with each purchase.” He handed the crossbow back to Rhody and turned to the breastplates. “Let’s inspect the damage.”

Roger’s man, who was also using Stark arrows, had aimed true, yet in Tony’s armor, there was not a dent, from either of the men’s arrows. In Hammer’s breastplate, however, there were two holes. Roger’s man’s arrows had pierced the front, but not the back, while Tony’s had gone all the way through and continued until it had hit the stone wall behind and fell to the ground. In the door, the first arrow was about an inch or so buried in the wood. You couldn’t even see the arrowhead on Tony’s; it was so far buried in the wood.

“I want two dozen of those swords, and twice as many crossbows.” Rogers spoke up.

“Deal! I can get that too you in a moon cycle.” They shook hands, and the deal was struck. Tony was so caught up in the respect in Rogers’ eyes and the smile on Pepper’s face that he missed the dark look the King was shooting his way.

 

“Another round!” Tony shouted above the loud bussing of the tavern crowd. He laughed, because damn, something was funny, he was sure of it. The people around him were laughing too, so why not? He chugged the rest of his drink, ignoring the drops that missed his mouth entirely and dripped onto his shirt and the floor. Didn’t matter – the amount of money he made from the deal he made with _Sir_ Rogers was enough to buy the entire tavern and run it for a few moons without making anyone pay for their drinks. He could deal with some lavish spending.

He stumbled to the bar, where he slammed his glass onto the wood. The bartender looked at him with tired eyes and poured him another. Tony thanked the man loudly and was swallowed back into the crowd. There were hands on his chest and tugging on his arm, with giggles in his ear. A hand slipped up his shirt and it was his turn to giggle. “No’ so fas’, sweet. Heart. I gossa room a’ the cassssle!”

More giggling, and Tony pulled reluctantly away from the crowds. He drained his entire drink in two gulps and unsteadily pulled himself on top of a table. “Okay dokay! I’m outta here…you…you…and _gods_ yes, you. Come wi’ me. The res’, goo’night, an gods bless!” He made the peace sign, and promptly fell backwards off of the table.

“I’m ok!”

 

“Enter!”

Sir Rogers pushed open the large door that led to the Kings private chambers and stepped inside, closing it behind him. “You called for me, your Majesty?”

Obadiah Stane turned from his position at the window and smiled, an odd look on such a stern face. “Steve, yes! Come in.”

The King stood up and embraced the young Knight. “I cannot remember the last time it was just you and me, talking.”

“Probably the same time that either of us had a few spare moments, your Majesty.” Steve said politely in return.

Obadiah chuckled. “You speak the truth. And what have I told you about this ‘your Majesty’ business. We are behind closed doors, and I consider you a friend, Steve. My name is Obadiah. It has been a very long time since I’ve been called by my name.”

“I apologize…Obadiah.” Steve said, the name sounding wrong on his tongue.

Another laugh, deep and heavy, resonating through the stone walls. “Alright, sit down, I brought you here for a reason.”

Steve complied.

“Steve, you have been an amazing Knight and Head of the Guard to my family. You provide companionship to my daughter, and my wife, gods bless her, always had a kind word to say about you. You have put your life on the line for me and my daughter countless times, and I wish to reward you for it.”

“Thank you your Majesty,” Steve interrupted. “But I need no reward, I am just doing my duty.”

Obadiah put up a hand, and the Knight fell silent. “My daughter, she is eighteen. Other girls her age are already married and have started a family of their own. Every single suitor over the years, no matter how worthy, I have turned away in a heartbeat because they do not make my daughter smile or laugh like you do. I am growing old, Steve, and need an heir. I already look upon you as a son, and if you were to ask me for my daughters hand, I would give it to you with the highest blessing any mortal could give.”

“Your Majesty, I…” Steve was shocked. Pepper, with her beauty that could outshine the sun. She could be his. All those year of her growing up next to him, the secrets she told him, and the laughter they shared. He never imagined that he could ever have her. In fact, he never imagined that he could have any woman. His titles were hard ones, which took a man’s life in service. And here he was, a few words was all that it would take to make him a prince, yet…

“I am honored, more than ever before, your Majesty. It’s only…I’m afraid your daughter is in love with someone else.”

“What?” The King bellowed, outrage coursing through his features. His eyes narrowed. “Stark.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Anthony Stark, the Blacksmith.”

The King’s anger went as quickly as it came. “And what do you think about this love, Sir Rogers?”

Steve took a moment to concoct his answer. The King, while he was a close friend at the moment, had moods like the seasons, and changed just as quickly. “I was in love when I was her age, your Majesty.”

“And what came of this love?”

He hesitated. “I grew up.”

 

“Master Stark!” Rhody called as he wandered the streets of the Castle town. The purse had been counted, orders made, and supplies readied for the long travel home. All that was missing was Tony. It wasn’t a strange occurrence, granted. Rhody wasn’t all that surprised when he entered Stark’s chambers that morning to find the bed made and the alcohol that was the Royal Family’s gift to the blacksmith unopened. Rhody had packed the bottle with the rest of the supplies and went on the consuming walk to find his master. There were several places that Stark frequented on their trips to the castle, but today he was not to be found at any of them.

“Hello ma’am, have you seen Mister Tony Stark? Tall, dark, handsome?” Rhody gave his normal description of his master, expecting another shake of the head and slamming of the door. However, this time, the woman at the door of the inn ushered him inside.

“Your master is upstairs in our largest room, boy.” The obese woman pointed to the ceiling. “He paid in advance to.”

“Thank you.” Rhody excused himself and climbed the stairs. He didn’t even have to knock on the door to know which one was Tony’s. His boots were outside the door.

“Master Stark.” Rhody opened the door. The scene inside used to make him blush and close the door, muttering apologies to the gods. Now, it was just another day in the life of Tony Stark.

The bed was bare, all the sheets on the floor, where Rhody found his master, naked and in a messy heap of sheets and legs. Two women, also sans clothing, were on either side of him, a third under the sheet covering his master, giving Tony a happy ending. Tony himself was stretched out a dazed smile on his face, a perfect patient for his guests, who were more than happy to be doing all the work. The women started when Rhody entered, releasing Tony from their grasps and grabbing at something to cover themselves with.

“Rhody! My good man, wanna join? More than enough to go around, isn’t their girl?” Tony sat up, that haze in his eyes that told Rhody he was still caught in the clutches of the alcohol and smoke from the night before. The women giggled, and for half a second, like always, Rhody was tempted to say yes.

Instead, he threw a clean set of clothes at Tony, and pulled some coins from his purse. “Thank you, ladies, but your services are no longer required.”

The woman looked affronted for being offered money, but took it all the same, pulling on their dirty clothes and escaping out the door.

“Now, why did you have to do that, Rhody?” Tony complained, falling back onto the floor and closing his eyes. “I was celebrating.”

“Celebrations over, master Stark. We need to head back. You have a lot of work to do before our next visit.”

“Work is good and all, boy. But you need some play, too. Take that as another Blacksmith lesson.” He rolled around. Rhody pulled the sheets off the floor and Tony let out an ‘oomph’ as his skin hit the wooden floor instead of the scratchy sheets.

Rhody leaned down and grabbed Tony’s torso, heaving him up off the floor and unto his feet. The man struggled for a moment, then pushed the boy off of him.

“I got this!” He shouted, stumbling a bit until he found his feet. He bent over and grabbed the half-empty bottle of booze on the floor and took a large swig before focusing completely on the task of putting on some clothes.

When Tony exited the Inn, even Rhody questioned whether or not the scene he had just witnessed actually happened. The man cleaned up well, his new crisp clothing bringing light to his washed-out face, the leather breastplate with the Stark colors back on his person, not a hint of the night before stained anywhere. He walked with purpose, not a hesitation or stumble to be seen in his steps. His eyes looked a bit bloodshot, however, and Rhody gave a small smile.

A few minutes got them to where Dummy and the wagon was set up, read for travel. A surprise greeted them in the form of the Princess herself, there to see them off. Tony stood up a little bit straighter, his smile a little more genuine.

“Mister Stark, I hope you have a safe journey back home, and don’t wait as long to visit us next time.” Pepper smiled, and Steve shifted beside her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Tony knelt on one knee and took Pepper’s hand, landing a soft kiss on her fair hand. She giggled, for a slight second, and Tony closed his eyes, committing the sound to memory. Then he stood, and gave a brisk nod to Knight Rogers.

The Knight nodded back. “Stark, I must warn you, the rebels have been acting up along the country-side, it would be wise to take the longer route back to your village.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Rogers.” Tony said, climbing onto Dummy and taking the reigns.

“Until next time, your Highness.” He winked at Pepper, and then left the castle behind, not looking back. He could feel her gaze on him as he left. That’s all that mattered.

 

The sun had barely hit the peak in the sky, and Tony was getting restless. He turned to Rhody, who was riding the wagon next to him. “I’m taking Dummy for a run, stretch his legs. I’ll circle back to meet you before we hit the outer villages.”

He didn’t wait for a nod from Rhody before he dug his heels into Dummy’s flank, letting out a cry of joy as the Wolf burst forward, releasing all its pent up energy into a full out sprint. Tony leaned forward, letting go of the leather reigns and digging his fingers into Dummy’s fur as the landscape became just a blur of colors in the corners of his eyes. It was the best feeling in the world, riding at breakneck speeds, the fear and adrenaline coursing through his body. He held on tighter, letting out another yell as Dummy sped up.

Something was wrong.

He grabbed Dummy’s reigns and pulled hard, and the wolf skidded to a stop. He sat up at attention, scanning the horizon, his hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword. He wished he had a Jericho with his right now, but he had left all the ones he had made so far with Rogers back at the castle. He waited for several moments, calming his heartbeat and constantly scanning the area around him.

Dummy growled, and darkness fell, hundreds of arrows blacking out the sky. Tony only had enough time to roll off of Dummy and hit the ground before the arrows landed, the thuds of iron hitting cracked dirt deafening to his ears. He stared up at the sun, blinking a few times and shaking his head, trying to clear his vision. Confused, he looked down, and a scream of surprise ripped from his lips.

An arrow was sticking out of his chest.

No, two arrows. He felt them with his hands to make sure his vision wasn’t screwing with him. The shafts stuck from between his ribs, and as he felt the wood with his quickly deadening fingers, Tony came to a horrifying conclusion.

They were his arrows.

Which only meant one thing.

He pulled the shafts from his chest, groaning as the wood came away clean, with no sign of the arrowheads. His vision started to go, and dark red liquid stained his leather breastplate, mixing with the Stark red and turning the gold to a muddy brown. His heart slowed, and his hands went numb.

The last thing he saw before he left this world was the red and black flag of the rebel forces.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is the best damn blacksmith in the Realm. But when he is captured by rebels and forced to make weapons for their cause, Tony finds himself in a situation that armor itself can't protect him from. But a very old man trapped in a cave tells Tony of secrets long buried by the Great War, and Tony finds out that he is the only one that can stop evil in its tracks, and that the only way he can succeed is by learning to harness the one thing that died out hundreds of years ago: magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter, yes, but packed full with goodies. Enjoy.

_Pain._

_Screaming._

_Flicker_

_Lights_

_Can’t_

_Hold_

_On_

_Everything_

_Hurts_

_Can’t_

_Breath_

_Help me._

Tony shot back into life, his body writhing in pain as he gasped for air, his lungs screaming to be inflated. He feels tears falling down his cheeks and he blinks. The sound of a wounded animal hits his ears, and he’s puzzled for a few moments, until he realizes that he’s the one making that noise. He tries to talk, but can’t, his throat sore from screaming. It feels like there’s a horse on his chest, and he can’t breath. His body feels like it’s being torn apart, limb from limb, the worst of it centered in his chest. His mind succumbs to the pain, and he returns to the dark abyss.

This time, he awakes more naturally. His eyes flicker open and he squints in the darkness. He fights the panic that rises back up in his throat, swallowing it back down as he tries to keep his breathing even. Every ragged intake and outtake causes a ripple of pain to shoot out from his chest and throughout the rest of his body. Tony feels the darkness seeping back into his body and puts up a fight, finding a spot on the rocks above him and focusing, putting all his energy into keeping hold of that one spot. After a few moments, but what feels like a lifetime, the black retreats and he’s in control of himself.

He lifted his head slowly, glancing down at his body. He was wrapped in rags that were unrecognizable, his bare toes wiggling happily in the air. He felt alright, considering. Another wave of pain hit him, knocking his head back. His chest was on fire…wait. His chest. Tony’s hands moved like lightning, pausing as they hovered over his torso. He started low, even though he knew there wasn’t a problem there. It was his heart. He could feel it. When he hit the third rib, his fingers left the smooth skin and hit a bump. He winced at the contact, but moved forward. More mangled flesh, and he bit his tongue so hard as his fingers brushed the wound that he tasted blood. Only…this wasn’t a battle wound.

He sat up too quickly, dizziness cutting through his vision. He pushed it away, his hands ripping the shirt from his skin and his eyes soaking in the damage, his fingers grasping and prodding at the flesh on his breast.

“What…what is this?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and broken, his eyes wide in horror. Fear took over, and he started scratching at his skin, drawing blood. The pain came in huge, crashing waves, only serving to fuel his panic.

Dirty hands snatched his wrists and yanked them away. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A strange accent assaulted his ears, and Tony tried to pull away. His captor was strong – stronger than Tony ever had been, and after a few moments, gave up the struggle.

“Who are you…what have you done to me?”

A face. The man smiles, but it isn’t one of those creepy ones that you run from, it’s a kind, genuine smile. Tony relaxes, but only a little. “My name is Yinsen, and I, Tony Stark, have saved your life.

“Oh. Okay then.”

 

 

 

 

The fire crackled and danced against the cave walls, casting shadows and warmth throughout the small room. Yinsen stood over the fire, a small iron pot buried in the wood, the flames licking at it’s sides. He stirred the contents every so often with a crude wooden spoon.

Tony watched this from the opposite side of the fire, where he was sitting wrapped in a blanket, even though it was a comfortable temperature. The more he took in about his surroundings, the tighter he hugged his knees to his chest. He was trapped in a cave with a madman. Yup. Wonderful. He thought back to what he had been doing just a few short days ago. His pockets full with so much coin that he jingled as he walked. Women throwing themselves at his feet. The Jericho. Pepper. And now he was sitting in a cave with nothing. Oh. And a madman, although Tony was sure he thought that already.

“Doesn’t do you any good.” Yinsen spoke up, and Tony’s blue eyes clashed with the older man’s grey ones. “Thinking like that. It’ll just get you depressed. Trust me, I know.”

Tony opened his mouth to retort, then realized he had nothing to say. Yinsen smiled, then went back to his pot. A light humming filled the small room.

“Where are we? What did you do to me?” Tony asked after a few solid minutes of humming and stirring.

“The mountains, as far as I could tell.” Yinsen said, bringing the wooden spoon to his lips to taste his concoction. It met his approval, so he scooped some in a bowl. He walked around the fire and handed it to Tony, sitting down next to the man. “I only have one bowl, but you need it more than me.”

Tony took the bowl with numb hands, the blanket falling to the ground. The mountains. The mountains that lay across the never-ending desert. The mountains surrounded by darkness and clouds that never lifted, even though it never rained.

“The mountains.”

“Yes, Tony. The mountains. And to answer your second question, you know exactly what I did to you, don’t you?”

Tony closed his eyes. It wasn’t possible. He should be dead. His arrows were made to kill. The point shattered after impact, breaking off into the blood stream, slowly making their way through the body, and eventually to the heart, where they slowly and painfully kill their host. Tony’s arrows were the reason why the rebels were still rebels, and not the new Royal Family. Even a shot to the arm would result in amputation at the very less, and that’s _if_ it was caught in time.

He had been shot twice. In the chest. He should have been dead less than a moon after impact. But here he was, breathing, talking, walking. _Living_. There was only one thing that could have prevented those shards from killing him.

“Magic.” Tony said the word so softly that even he couldn’t hear himself, but Yinsen’s face broke out into the largest grin Tony had ever seen.

“That sigil there, on your chest, it’s keeping those nifty arrows of yours from burying themselves into your heart. Brilliant idea, by the way. I’ve heard whispered stories about the great Tony Stark, but this was the first time I’ve seen your work in action. Would have killed you if I was a lesser man.” Yinsen talked a lot.

“My favorite thing though, isn’t your weapons, Tony. It’s your armor.” Yinsen continued, standing up and walking over to a corner of the cave, where he picked up an old Stark breast plate from a few years ago, when Tony first discovered the idea of layering small panels instead of fastening the entire body from a single sheet.

“So much sweat and blood mixed in with the metal.” Yinsen said. “But there’s something else in here, too. Something familiar. Am I right?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I use spells on my armor, so what? That’s simple stuff, to stop rusting and denting. That’s not magic, it’s parlor tricks compared to the voodoo you stuck on my chest.”

“But you don’t enchant these pieces, you don’t have a magical bone in your body.” Yinsen’s eyes got a far away look, and a tear dripped slowly down his face. “Did we survive? Are there more of us out there? Am I not the last one?”

Wizards. Yinsen was talking about wizards. Hell, Yinsen _was_ a wizard.

“I…I’m sorry.” Tony said, forcing the words out of his mouth. “That’s just the work of a magician. There’s no more Wizards. They were all killed during the war.”

Yinsen visibly shrunk, and suddenly Tony realized exactly how old the man was. If he was a Wizard, that would mean he was at least a thousand years old.

“So I’m alone…” Yinsen hit the ground hard. Tony wondered how long Yinsen had been sitting in this cave, holding on to a sliver of hope that his brothers and sisters were still out there, looking for him. The same kind of hope that Tony now held on to, although it was shrinking as every second went by.

“No, you aren’t. There aren’t any more Wizards, but there’s a ton of magicians, people with a small amount of magic in them. Jarvis – he’s a few hundred years old, he’s the one who enchants my armor. He’s one of them.”

Yinsen sighed. “If this is the best he can do, then he is but a shadow of my people.” He threw the breastplate aside with a clatter.

“So you really are a Wizard?” Tony had to ask. He grew up on bed stories about the great Wizards of old. Legend told that they were seven-foot giants who had the power to control the sun and the moon. They had familiars and objects that bonded with them magically to enhance their power. They were gods among men.

“I was a Wizard. Now, I’m just an old man who lived beyond his time.” The sadness that seeped through Yinsen’s voice was palpable, and for the first time in his life, Tony wanted to give someone a hug.

“Wait…was?” Tony asked, confused. He was robbed of an answer as three short knocks came at the large iron door that marked the only way out of the cave. Yinsen scrambled to his feet, gesturing for Tony to do the same.

“Stand up, put your hands above your head, and don’t say a _word_.”

Tony did as he was asked, and the iron door opened in front of them. Out poured five or six men, all armed to the teeth with Stark weaponry and armor. Tony ground his teeth together in anger at seeing his work in the wrong hands. The first thing he was going to do when he got back was find the bastard who was selling his stuff to the rebels, and kill them slowly. _If_ he got back.

“Ah. I see that you are awake, Mister Stark. Welcome, to my humble abode.” Out of the mass of rebels came a man who walked with purpose and power. While the men around him were decked in full armor, he wore a simple tunic tied at the waist, with light breeches and sandals meant for walking in the desert. His face was chiseled and wind-worn and his eyes sparkled with a constant hate. He stared at Tony, and Tony stared right back.

“A bit drafty.” The blacksmith bit, and the man laughed.

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” He turned to Yinsen. “Wonderful job you did with him, Wizard. I didn’t think he’d survive, after getting two arrows to the chest.”

It was Tony’s turn again to bare the man’s gaze. “I’ll make this simple for you, Stark. I want the Jericho. I want one hundred of them, don’t bother with the arrows. You deliver, and I let you go.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, tensing his body. “I refuse.”

The man smiled.

 

 

 

 

Two moons, maybe three. Tony wasn’t sure what time meant anymore, or if it even still existed. All he could think of was the pain. They held him under water until he sucked for air, then pulled him out and pounded on his chest until he coughed it all up and then it started all over again. They threw him outside into the desert, chained to a piece of rock until his eyes were filled with sand and his throat was coated with the stuff and his skin was red and bursting from heat blisters. Then they held him underwater again, and the cycle started over.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” The man was back, standing as tall and proudly as before. Only this time he had to look down at the shivering heap of bones that Tony had become in order to look him in the eye.

Yinsen helped him stand, but once Tony got his footing back, he pushed the Wizard away. He brought his head up slowly, his entire body burning and shaking from the effort.

“You build me one hundred Jericho crossbows, then I let you go.” The man’s teeth were unnaturally white, like the bleached bones of an animal who perished in the desert and was picked clean by the birds.

“No you wont.” Tony said.

The man laughed. “No, I wont.”

They shook.

 

 

 

 

The cave was cluttered with discarded pieces of ore and forging materials. A roaring fire was burning in a hole dug in the dirt, the temperatures almost to those needed to smelt. Tony sat on a rock, holding a small knife in his hands, running his thumb along the side of the blade.

Tony had been in low places before. When he told his father he wanted to be a blacksmith, Howard Stark had disowned his son, throwing him out on the streets. Tony lived as a thief for several cycles of the moon until he wandered into a town where there was a blacksmith in need of an apprentice. For years, he ate with the pigs and worked from dusk until dawn for nothing but a disapproving frown and a kick in the ass. He knew what it was like to have absolutely nothing left.

This was worse. If he made the Jericho for the rebels, they would kill him, then overthrow the crown. Or worse, they would keep him here, in this cave, to continue to work as their slave until he keeled over dead. People would die. Innocent people. Pepper. Rhody. Jarvis. Or, he could refuse, and they would torture him some more until they got tired of him, then would kill him, more slow than fast. Which meant, he had only one option left.

Tony wondered if he would be strong enough, to take the knife and plunge it into his heart. Would he get halfway there, then lose nerve, sitting here with a knife stuck halfway out of his chest, slowly bleeding out. No, he had to do it all the way, and he had to be quick, or Yinsen would just bring him back again. He couldn’t deal with coming back again.

He gripped the handle of the blade with all his might, and closed his eyes, going through the motion in his mind. Three…two…wait. Tony opened his eyes and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He had to know. Before he died, he _needed_ to know.

“What did you mean, you _were_ a Wizard?” Tony looked at Yinsen, who was leaning against the cave wall, his eyes closed, humming a soft tune. His eyes opened at the sound of Tony’s voice, and he sat up, cutting off his hum mid-note.

“Exactly that. I’m not a Wizard anymore. Not a drop of magic left in my body.”

“Well..where’d it go?”

Yinsen smiled, a sad smile. “Like I said, you are not a magical person, Tony. Not an ounce in your blood. Spells need magic to work.”

Him. Yinsen wasn’t a Wizard anymore because _he_ was a Wizard. Him. Tony Stark, the blacksmith to the crown, was a Wizard.

“Oh.” That was the only word that Tony’s brain could comprehend.

Yinsen chuckled, a genuinely happy sound – the first the old man had made in a very long time. “I didn’t need it anymore anyway. I’m stuck here, in this cave, bound by magic more ancient than I. I’m the last of my kind. An old man. Those people out there, they want to kill and maim and spread their evil, and you have to stop them, Tony. You couldn’t do that if you were dead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?!” Tony squealed, jumping off the rock, the knife dropping from his fingers onto the ground, forgotten. “I could have zapped the dicks with lightning or crushed them with rocks! They _tortured_ me!”

Yinsen shook his head. “I gave you my magic, Tony, not my skill. You’re about as useless as a newborn with a bow and arrow.”

Tony pouted. It was a sight.

“But –“ Yinsen put up his hands. “—I can teach you. I don’t have much strength left Tony, and I have been dying for the past thousand years. But I can teach you everything that I know about magic.”

Tony thought about the word outside of the cave, on the other side of the desert. A world full of normal humans who hated magic and everything about it. People who burned all the scrolls and hunted down all the magical creatures that populated the forest, and who would burn a man because they _thought_ he might have used a little bit of magic. He thought about how he would he persecuted, and probably killed, even if he stood at the top of the castle and used his powers to strike down every single rebel, murderer and rapist in the realm. And then he thought, _fuck them_.

“Let’s do this.”


End file.
